Sick Of You
by colormestupidx
Summary: Saint Jimmy is fed up with his life at home—his strict parents, his angelic younger sister, and the authorities who refuse to get off his back. So when he receives an offer to run away and join a gang of thieves, does he accept? Of course.
1. Deja Vu

Everything was gray. The gray floor tiles, the dirty gray walls. The gray, hard plastic chair that pushed on my lower back. The gray rolling chair on the other side of the desk, which looked far more comfortable than my choice of seating. The cold metal against my hands. I was sure there would be pink marks on my wrists later. Was anyone coming?

I looked up to the ceiling. The lights were intense and white, glaring in my eyes. They were using those squiggly light bulbs that are supposed to be "good for the environment" and shit. I looked down the floor, a purple squiggle floating in the middle of my vision from looking into the light. Why did I have to land myself in this hellhole again?

I wasn't as scared as I had been the first time. But I was still pretty fuckin' scared. Not of the questions the officer would ask me, and not that my cellmate would be some freak rapist. I was scared of what my mom was going to do to me (well_, try_ to do to me. I usually just escaped out the front door, giving her a nice flip of the middle finger). But she would have a field day when she found out I was arrested again. And don't even get me started on my dad.

Finally the short, grumpy-looking old man walked into the interrogation room. Same guy as last time. When he saw me, his expression turned from one of toughness to one of disgust.

"Oh," he said. "It's you."

I shrugged, the itchy orange jumpsuit rubbing against my skin.

"Name?" the old guy asked.

"Jimmy."

"Your _full_ name."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "James Aaron Pierce," I replied. "...the third."

The officer nodded and scribbled something on his clipboard. "And do you know why you're here?"

"Well...I kinda..." I mumbled, twiddling my thumbs in my lap.

"Speak up," the guy barked.

"I guess I was in a place I wasn't supposed to be...again."

"And where was that?"

"The old warehouse on East 12th street."

"Were you aware that this was private property?"

"Uh huh."

The old man sighed and scribbled more on his clipboard. "Why," he asked, "did you and your friends decide to visit the old storage warehouse?"

I shrugged. "We needed a place to hang out."

"What did you guys do there?"

"We..." I heaved a sigh. Lying wouldn't help. "We got a little wasted, I guess."

"Well that was pretty obvious, since your Breathalyzer reading was 0.12." He marked something else on his paper. "Okay, James—"

"Jimmy."

"—James, I'm going to ask you some health questions, and then you'll be sent to a place for you to stay the evening. So, got any allergies?"

"Nope."

He went on and on questioning me about my health, did my family have any history of diseases or whatever. I wished I could be anywhere else.

"Aight, kid, follow me." He pushed himself up from the desk. I drunkenly stumbled after him.

Finally, when we reached my sleeping quarters, I got the handcuffs and shit off. I looked down at my wrists. The handcuffs had almost cut into my skin. But, hey, I lucked out—no rapist cellmate. No cell mate at all.

After reminding me that I was under constant surveillance and of the fact that the toilet was in the corner (no shit, Sherlock), the officer closed and locked the barred door to my cell. I clambered onto the bottom bunk. The mattress was thin and uncomfortable. I chucked the pillow across the room in frustration. Whatever. It was probably full of lice anyway.

I couldn't fall asleep. Too much to think about. I just rolled over again and again all night, thinking about all the shit of that evening. They arrive at the warehouse, put those damn handcuffs on me and the guys, take us to the police station and then here. They took all my stuff to inspect it. Soon I was gonna have to deal with my parents, a trial, and all that bullshit. But I was happy about one thing: that I wasn't the one to bring the weed that night.

"I can't believe you got yourself into this again!" my mom was ranting on and on in the car the next morning. She started going on about what a bad example I was for my sister and all that crap. I looked out the window, turning up the volume of my iPod.

We passed by the storage warehouse on the way home. I could see some of the broken bottles there from the night before. I didn't regret it. Shit, I don't regret anything. I was just happy to be out of jail and to have my stuff back.

"Jimmy, are you listening to me?" she asked, ripping my earbuds out of my ears.

"Nope," I stated plainly, starting to put my earbuds back in.

"I'm gonna take that MP3 player away," she threatened.

I chuckled. "Yeah, _right._" I put it down my pants and turned the volume up higher.

She gave an exasperated sigh. I smirked and continued to stare at the city going by.

I live in a small apartment in a city I like to call New York. I live with my irritating parents and my little sister, Ariella. She's a cute kid. She's probably the only one in the family I like, except for the dog, but it died two years ago. Oh, well. It was kind of a pain in the ass anyway. The other people on our floor hated it too. It was one of those small, yappy dogs, and it would always bark late at night.

The thing about my family is my parents just love Ariella more than me. They always did. She's their little angel, and I'm just a disappointment.

Even before she came around they didn't seem to like me much. I mean, yeah, they gave me food and water and bought me action figures, but they never tried to actually spend time with me. They were always too busy working and shit.

I used to try to impress them when I was a kid. I really did. I did anything to get their attention, but it didn't work. So I eventually gave up. And now they suddenly notice me when I do something they don't like. Just shows how full of shit they are.

Did I mention this is my second MIP? 'Cause it is. The first time, which happened last year when I was 15, my parents freaked out and yelled at me—two separate times. I was supposed to be grounded for 6 months, but those dumbasses couldn't keep me at home for their lives. I would just hang out after school with the guys. I never actually did schoolwork. I'd just hang out with my friends, smoke weed and shit. Which is pretty much what I still do.

"Alright, let's go," my mom says coldly as the car pulls into our space in the parking lot.

"Uh-huh," I mumble as I drag myself out of the passenger seat.

In the elevator on the way to our floor, I can feel her studying me. She has that confused, disappointed look on her face, like I'm no longer her kid or something. I hate that look. I mean, despite the fact that my parents are completely and utterly full of shit, I don't really want them to hate me. But I guess it's a little too late for that.

Fine. If they give me hate, I'll throw it right back at them. I mean, it's the golden rule, right?

They should have known better than to fuck with Saint Jimmy.


	2. Smart Kid

"He did _what_?"

Sounds like my dad is home from work. Shit. I'm in for it.

I quickly scramble to turn the lock on my bedroom door. As if on queue, my dad's booming footsteps grow louder as he storms down the short hallway to my room.

"Open this door right now!" he roars, his fists causing the flimsy door to wobble.

I take a deep breath and slowly crack the door open, leaning my head against the frame. My frightened eyes meet my dad's heated glare. _Don't look scared_, I tell myself. _Don't let the old bastard win._

"Jimmy," he growls.

"What?" I demand.

"Open the damn door."

I roll my eyes and reluctantly let him enter my room.

I sit down on my bed and lean back, relaxed. "How may I help you?" I ask calmly, while he takes a seat on the nearest chair.

"Don't bullshit me, Jimmy, you know exactly what you did."

After a few minutes of defiantly staring back at my father's scowl, I cave. "So? What do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop breaking into warehouses and getting drunk. I want you to respect other people's property, the law, and, most importantly, me and your mother!" he yells. His face, which is normally pretty pale, is almost red with anger. He's like a giant angry tomato on legs...not a pretty sight to see.

I shrug, turning my attention to the posters plastered to my wall. Ramones, Smashing Pumpkins, The Clash, Green Day, Avenged Sevenfold, The Offspring, Metallica, Sex Pistols, Social Distortion, The Who, Nirvana—all these bands that I would much prefer to listen to than my dad's bitching.

Finally, I turn to look my dad in his crimson face. "Kiss my ass."

"What the _fuck _did you just say?"

"I said, 'Kiss my ass'," I repeat. "You deaf?"

"That's it. You're never leaving this apartment again until you're 18."

I snort. "Good one."

"Do I _look_ like I'm kidding to you?" he demands.

"Oh please, you're a living joke," I retort.

My dad sighs. "Sometimes I just wish I could get some respect around here."

"Sometimes I wish you would go to hell," I mutter in reply, my eyes drifting towards the window in the window.

He looks at me for a while. I can see it out of the corner of my eye. It's that same look Mom gave me in the elevator. "I don't think I've ever been so disappointed in my entire life," he says bitterly, rising from my chair that sits by the closet. I flip him off as he turns around to slam the door behind him.

Alone at last.

A sharp knocking on the door causes me to stir in my sleep. I groan and roll over onto my stomach. I hear the knocking again. I bury my face in my pillows as the knocking persists.

"_What?_" I finally snap.

I hear a soft, clicking noise, and then someone enters my room. I hear quick, quiet footsteps and soon enough, a head with mousy-brown hair pops up beside my bed.

"What do you want?" I ask my sister, squinting through my tired eyes at the clock on my bedside table. "It's the friggin' crack of dawn!"

She raises her eyebrows and corrects me. "It's seven thirty."

"Whatever. How did you even get in here?" I whisper angrily.

She smugly raises a bobby pin between her thumb and forefinger.

"Holy shit. You picked the lock?"

"Mm-hmm," she replies matter-of-factly.

_The little shit picked the lock._ Told you she was a smart kid.

I sigh and prop myself up on my right elbow. "Okay, why'd you wake me up anyway?"

"I wanted to know why Mom and Dad are so angry with you," she replies.

I just look at her. Her green eyes stare right back at me.

"Tell me!" she insists, giving the blanket-covered lump that is my legs a shove.

"_Fine_," I say, defeated. "Me and my friends—"

"It would be 'my friends and I'," she corrects, "but go on."

After shooting her a dirty look, I continue. "My friends and I were in the storage warehouse on East 12th street last night, when we weren't supposed to be."

Ariella looks bewildered. "Well if you weren't supposed to be there, why the hell did you go there?"

"Don't say that word; it's not nice."

"Don't be a hypocrite, and don't change the subject. Why were you there?" she prods.

"Well, you wouldn't expect Dad to allow us to hang out _here,_ would you?"

"Touché. So what did you guys even do there?" she continues.

"We got...drunk. And we, um..." I trail off.

"...Smoked pot," she finishes for me.

I stare at her in disbelief. "How did you know about that?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm 12 years old, Jimmy. I know things. I probably know more than you do. Name any subject and I guarantee I'm more knowledgeable than you," she says boldly, looking straight into my eyes.

"Shut up. We didn't actually get around to smoking it anyway. Okay, so while we were in the midst of doing all that, these cops drove by and heard us. So they came in and took us to the police station. And then—"

"Long story short, you got arrested again," Ariella says quickly.

"You knew about the first time?" I ask curiously.

"Yeah. I was eavesdropping on Mom and Dad that night while they thought I was asleep."

Smart kid, smart kid. I nod in understanding.

"Do you know when your trial is?" she wonders.

"Nope. Probably sometime next week," I answer.

She gives me a worried look. I clear my throat.

"So now you know," I say, scooting further under my sheets. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"I guess," my sister replies, heading for the door. "And Jimmy?" "Yeah?"

"I hope you don't go to jail," she says softly.

"Me too, kid," I mumble as she gently closes the door. "Me too."


	3. Good Life

Today is a rainy day—a Thursday to be exact. The rain falls sharply down from the dark gray sky, landing on my dark gray sweatshirt, which is now nearly soaked as I walk toward the subway station. I'm covered in warm rain, and my clothes are sticking to me, but who gives a shit? My life fuckin' sucks anyways. Besides, the rain isn't too bad. I don't see why people hate it so much. They stay in their houses, like they're afraid or something. It's not like there's a rain monster that's gonna eat you if you leave home to go the grocery store (or, in my case, to the storage warehouse).

Today, this rainy Thursday, is my first day of community service.

I have to clean up the crap we left at the warehouse and help make sure people's shit is in order, which is easy enough. But I'd rather not be wasting my life at that dump. Then again, it's better than being home, where both of my parents are giving me the silent treatment.

My dad hasn't said a word to me since our fight on Sunday. My mom has pretty much only said things like "Jimmy, breakfast!" or "Your father and I expect you to be home from community service at 4 o' clock sharp." And my sister is at school. I had to be "excused" (suspended) from school—for the rest of the term. Which is fine by me. But things are getting kinda lonely without my friends.

The judge decided to be a dick and give each one of us a day of the week to work from 11 to 3:30 at the warehouse, instead of having us all work together from 1 to 2 everyday or something more practical like that. But the judge wanted to make sure we have as little fun as possible, so I've got every Thursday from now until school starts to work at the warehouse.

I don't really see what I'm gonna do here after all the broken bottles are cleaned up. Maybe just help people put their stuff in the storage units or something boring like that. I'll most likely end up picking up trash in the parking lot all day. Sounds fun, right?

As I reach the subway gate, I shove my hand into my jeans pocket to feel for my MetroCard. My fingers search blindly for it, feeling for the hard plastic and finding nothing but fabric. I shrug and duck under the revolving gate. It's New York. Nobody cares.

I wander over to the escalator and start to head down, nearly crashing into the lady heading up. I scramble down to the landing while she says something about me being on the wrong escalator or something.

Yawning, I take a seat on one of the benches, next to a guy in a business suit holding a briefcase. As I sit down, he leans toward the left of the bench. I drop my head to the right side of my chest as discreetly as possible and take a whiff. Meh, I can go a couple more days. That pussy's just not used to the smell of a real man.

I bring my focus to the gray, square tiles on the floor. There's this one that's cracked down the middle, and one half is about to come out of the grout. I give it a kick with my foot, and it slides across the floor toward the trashcan and the rail map. I quickly stagger over to it and pick it up, brushing it off with my thumb and reclaiming my seat by the uptight businessman.

I turn it over in my hands. One of its edges, the one where it cracked, is sharp and scratches my palm, drawing blood. I mutter a dirty word and the guy in the suit gives me a sneer. I roll my eyes at him and dab at my bleeding hand with my sweatshirt sleeve.

As my bleeding stops, the lights by the tunnel start to flash, and I hear a gradually loud rumbling as the train approaches. Pocketing the piece of tile and brushing off my jeans, I follow the crowd of people advancing toward the subway doors.

As usual, I get pushed to the back of the crowd and wind up being the last one on the train. I board the subway just as the doors close with a chime accompanied by a robotic feminine voice. I take my place next to a raggedy-looking guy who smells even worse than me, and probably lives on the L train. He gives me a toothless grin as I sit down. I try to hold back a sneer. Now I know what that businessman felt like. I would stand, but I'm too fucking lazy.

After about 15 minutes, we arrive at the 3rd Avenue station and I get up as quickly as possible to get away from the smelly man. I dash out of the train and up the down escalator, just to bug people.

When I emerge from the underground station, the rain is still pouring, throwing itself down from the sky. I put up my sweatshirt hood, yank the drawstrings so that my face is almost completely covered, and start to walk the few blocks to the storage facility.

It's almost 11:15 when I get to the storage warehouse. Shit, shit, shit. I'm late and whoever's in charge of me is gonna be pissed. But why am I late? I left home at 10:15. Oh right—I stopped to get a bagel for breakfast after I rejected Mom's cold pancakes.

I approach the electronic gate and withdraw a crinkled piece of paper that has the passcode on it. I stand there, just looking at it, watching the raindrops fall onto the page and making wet spots on the ink. I stand there, in the warm rain, trying to fully realize what's going on. I'm at the storage warehouse doing community service because I broke the law and got caught. _I got caught._ But I've never gotten caught before. Why now?

A voice calls me out of my thoughts.

"Hey, kid!"

I look up to see a skinny, red-haired woman wearing overalls and a green windbreaker approaching me.

"Um...hi," I mutter, casting my eyes down.

Swinging her keys, she asks me, "You Jimmy? Teddy? Kurt? Which one? Mitch came yesterday."

I nod. "Yeah, Jimmy."

"Okay, Jimmy, you're late," she replies, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, uh...sorry?" I'm not used to saying that word.

She gives a little nod of approval. She then pushes a button somewhere on the other side of the gate, and beckons me to follow her as it slides open. I do.

"Since Mitch swept the broken glass and stuff yesterday, you're gonna sort the office trash. Cans, bottles, paper, and waste."

I almost ask, "Are you serious?" but I bite my lip and shrug, following her into the office building adjoining the storage units.

By 3:30, my work is done and I come out of the office building to see that the rain has stopped and the sky is almost clear of clouds. But there's still no sun.

I whip out a cigarette and reach for my lighter in my sweatshirt pocket. Dammit. My dad took my fucking lighter. Dammit, dammit, dammit. I sigh and round the corner to the back of the warehouse, a shortcut to the subway station. I twirl the unlit cigarette in my fingers as I walk.

While passing an apartment building near the warehouse, I see a guy leaning against the graffiti-ridden wall, smoking a joint. The guy's tall, probably about 22, and looks like he's gone twice as long as I have without a shower. Shit, probably twice as long as that homeless guy on the subway. But he reeks of cologne—not the expensive kind, oh the toilet or something, the cheap kind you buy at CVS.

I give him a little nod as I pass him and he returns the gesture. Then, as I'm walking towards the end of the alley, I hear him say something.

"Huh?" I ask, as I turn on my heel to face him.

"I said, ya need a lighter?" the guy repeats.

"Oh," I mutter, my eyes falling to the cigarette in my hand. "Uh, yeah."

He motions for me to come over to where he leans against the concrete wall. I shuffle over to him and he withdraws a lighter from his jacket pocket.

"Thanks," I mutter as I light my cigarette.

"No problem, kid," he replies.

"Here," I say, offering him his lighter back.

"Ah, keep it. I got plenty more," He says with a wave of his hand. "Hey, you want some? I can give ya a good deal." He gestures to the joint intertwined in his fingers.

"Nah, I've got some myself," I decline.

He nods, and we both just lean against the building, smoking.

"So, kid, you from around here?" he asks, gazing around at the tall, gray buildings.

"We live in West Village. Me and my family."

"Ah, family. I used to have one of those. They kinda sucked, though, so I ditched them when I was about your age. How old are you?"

"Sixteen," I reply.

"Hmm. I was 17 when I left home to live with some roommates. And we're still hanging out, smoking pot and shit." He gives me a little half-smile, and releases a puff of smoke.

"Sounds like the good life," I say wistfully. "A life away from parents, school, and all the crap."

"Yeah, it's pretty nice," he agrees. "Doing whatever you feel like, no one to tell you what to do. Good life."

"I sure would love to live like that," I muse, exhaling smoke.

"Would you?"

"Huh?" I ask, turning to him.

"If you work for me, you can," he offers.

"But I'd get caught again..." I mutter.

"C'mon. You can stay with us and everything. You just gotta do what I say, and everything else'll be planned out for you. What do ya say, kid?"

As I stare at the cement on the ground, my mind is flooded with memories of my parents, my sister, my apartment, my friends, and everything at home. Good memories. But then the bad memories start to bubble up from under the surface, and then it hits me.

I don't have to deal with people's shit.

Things could be different.

Things can be different.

All I have to do is obey this guy.

"It's a deal," I state, shaking the guy's hand.

"Good. Just meet me here tomorrow night, and we can get things started," he replies.

I nod and turn to hurry off to the subway station, when his voice stops me and sends a sharp, unexpected chill down my spine.

"You're a smart kid."


	4. Different

I wake to the soft beeping of my watch alarm. As I press the small button to shut it off, I check the time. 12:37 AM. My parents should be asleep by now...

Yes, I went to sleep before getting ready to leave. Why? Because, in case you haven't noticed, I'm the fucking living epitome of laziness. I slowly swing my legs off the bed and make my way over to my closet to grab some things. Jeans, a couple shirts, and a sweatshirt. I put on the jeans and the sweatshirt, stuff the rest into my gym bag, and pull on my sneakers.

I take a step towards the door and look back. I have everything, right? There's gotta be something else I need. My eyes settle on the nightstand where my iPod rests in its speakers. That's it. I quickly seize it along with my earbuds, stuff them into my pocket and head for the door again. I take one last look around the room. Who knows if I'll ever be in here again? I heave a sigh and slowly, quietly, carefully turn the doorknob.

As I creep down the hallway, I hear my dad snoring in my parents' room. I groan inwardly and pick up my walking speed. I have to leave before they hear me.

I feel a pang of guilt in my chest as I pass my sister's room. What'll she do when she learns I'm gone? No, no, she'll be fine without me. She's perfect. I turn my head away from her door and pass through the kitchen toward the entrance to the apartment. As I turn around to close the door, I feel a rush of relief and ecstasy. Time to leave this hellhole once and for all.

I sneak down the three flights of stairs and into the lobby. The old night guard's asleep, as usual, so I easily slip out of the building and onto the damp street. I look around at all the lights of the city and smile a little. I can do whatever I want now. I have complete freedom. No one can tell me what to do. Well, except the guy with the extra lighters.

I start walking down the street towards the subway station. Maybe I can stop for some food at 7 Eleven.

By the time I get to the alley, my watch says 1:26 AM. I don't see the guy with the jacket, though...

Suddenly, I hear his voice.

"So you decided to show up."

I turn around and see him leaning casually on the wall again. Where the hell did he come from?

"Yep," I reply simply.

"Good choice," he says, and takes a drink from the beer in his hand. He turns around and starts to walk down the street, motioning for me to follow. I obey.

We walk for a while, and I remain slightly behind him, looking around and trying to figure out where we're going. We pass a lot of bars and restaurants, and I have to walk quickly so as not to lose track of the guy in the sea of pedestrians.

After about 15 minutes, he stops at a small apartment building and I follow him in. We take the elevator up to the 5th floor and he leads me into the first apartment on the right.

"Cam! There you are. You won't believe what I just got to do..."

"Hey, Cam, where were you, dude? Travis just..."

"Cam, we need more beer! Who's that kid?"

The carpet is ridden with beer cans and trash. Music is blaring from the stereo in the corner, and I see a few guys watching ESPN on the small TV.

A skinny guy with spiky blue hair approaches us with a drunken grin.

"Hey, Cam, what's up? You missed a lot of drama," he says, giving a little wink. Finally, he notices me. "Hey...who're you?"

"Jimmy," I answer.

He looks me over, shrugs and turns back to the guy with the jacket—I mean, Cam.

"Another recruit, huh? Hope he does good."

Cam shrugs and replies, "He has potential."

"I'll show him around if you want," the guy with the blue hair offers.

"Go 'head. I gotta get some more beer," Cam says and walks toward the kitchen.

"Okay, Jimmy," Blue Hair says, dangling an arm around my shoulder, "let's go see what Chris is doing."

He stumbles over to a clump of people around the couch, dragging me with him.

"Hey guys!" he yells over the music.

"Danny!"

"Hey, Danny, how's it going?"

"Where's my beer?"

"Guys...guys...guys...this," Blue Hair—Danny—says, giving me a little shove, "is Jimmy. Jimmy, say hi!" he commands.

"Hi," I say awkwardly.

"Hey, kid, what's up?"

"Want some beer?"

"Hi, Jimmy!"

"If he was a few years older, I'd fuck him."

"I'd still fuck him!"

"Really, guys, who took my beer?"

"Jimmy, this is Chris, Robbie, Travis, Dave, Nikki, Charlotte, Mick, and Frank. And I'm Danny."

I nod to them and give a little wave. Danny pushes me down onto the couch after making Mick scoot over. Soon enough, I have a beer in my hand and two drunk girls leaning on my shoulders. So this is the good life. I could get used to it.

Then I see her.

It sounds cheesy, I know—and I'm not one to be cheesy—but it seems like everything and everyone else just melted away. My entire focus is on her. The way she walks in from the kitchen, the way she smiles when she sees her friend, the way she sips her drink. Something about her is...different. I can't put my finger on it. But I can barely bear to tear my eyes away from her to ask Robbie,

"Who's that?" I point across the room to where she's standing.

"Oh, that's Danny's sister. Don't even try it," he replies.

I stare at her, longing just to go say hi. "What? Why not?" I ask him. "He probably wouldn't care."

"Yeah, _Danny _wouldn't care," Frank says. "But she is..."

"Different," Dave finishes.

"Yeah," Robbie agrees. "_Different_."

Different is right. I watch distantly as she taps her foot to the music, brushes her hair out of her face, laughs.

I want to know her.

There, on the beat-up couch, I make a vow with myself. Any way I can, I will make sure I get to know her...Whatsername.


	5. Double Stuf

I slowly lift my eyelids and find myself in a stiff double bed with tattered sheets that smell like Axe. What the fuck?

Oh, right. I sorta live here now.

Something doesn't feel right...

My eyes fall to my clothes on the floor. Exactly how drunk did I get?

Probably a lot.

Yawning, I look to the other side of the bed. Empty. Nikki must have left in the middle of the night. Or was it Charlotte?

Meh, whatever.

I take a better look around the small bedroom. Nothing much is in here besides the bed and a floor lamp in the corner. There's a closet, behind where my jeans are lying. The door is open, and I can see that it's pretty much empty besides some itchy-looking blankets and what looks like a mop.

I roll out of bed and pull on my clothes. The sound of voices drifts into the bedroom, and I saunter out the door to see Danny and Travis watching TV in the living area.

"Hey." I nod to them as I head to the kitchen for something to eat.

"Jimmy! What's up?" Danny calls.

"Heard you scored with Nikki last night. How'd it go?" says Travis.

"It was alright. Not that I remember it," I reply, pouring myself some Rice Krispies.

They laugh. I take my bowl and sit on the couch with them.

"So, where's Cam?" I wonder.

"On a mission, again," Danny says. "Should be back soon."

"Huh." I watch as Travis flips through the channels.

"Gonna pick something ever, Trav?" Danny asks, smirking.

"Shut up." Travis eventually settles on SpongeBob.

Just as Squidward starts playing his clarinet, the door to the apartment opens and closes, revealing Whatsername, beat-up jacket, short skirt and all. I quickly shove a spoonful of cereal into my mouth and focus on watching TV.

"Hey Danny, Trav, new kid," she says nonchalantly as she strolls toward the kitchen, plunking the plastic grocery bag onto the dirty counter. I watch out of the corner of my eyes as she takes out a six-pack of Coke, a bag of Doritos and a pack of Double Stuf Oreos. I shovel another spoonful of cereal into my mouth as she starts to walk toward us.

"Hey, sis," Danny says as she leans against the arm of the sofa next to him. He turns to me. "Hey, Jimmy, you met my sister?"

"Uh..." I quickly swallow my cereal in one painful gulp. "Nope, not yet."

"Well, here she is." He gives her a little shove on the arm. "This is Jimmy," he says to her.

"Cam found another recruit?" she asks her brother, brushing her hair out of her face.

Danny nods. "He's pretty cool. Hasn't gone on any missions yet, though."

I look down to my cereal and I can feel her giving me the once-over.

_Sit up straighter,_ says the voice in my head. I ignore it and eat some more.

"Well," she says, rising from the couch, "I need to take a nap."

"See you later, babe," Travis calls as she walks toward the other bedroom. I can see her roll her eyes as she slams the door.

Travis turns to me. "Hot stuff, huh, Jimmy?" he remarks as he jerks his head toward the bedroom door.

I shrug, keep watching TV, eat another spoonful cereal.

"Dude. Give it up. She's my sister," Danny says, elbowing Travis in the side.

"Yeah, and she's fucking _hot_," Travis replies.

"She's also _fifteen_." Danny gives him a disapproving look.

"Ah, shut up, Danny. You know I was just messing around." Travis starts flipping through the channels again as the SpongeBob episode ends.

Soon enough, the front door opens and shuts again, to show Cam entering with both hands in the pockets of his jacket. He makes his way toward the third bedroom, the one no one seems to go in but him. I guess it's his office, of sorts.

He soon emerges from the bedroom, his hands out of his pockets now, and he comes to lean against the wall by the couch.

"So how'd it go?" Danny asks, looking up at Cam.

"Pretty good. We almost have enough cash now to buy a TV that's a little less crappy _and_ pay the rent." Cam shrugs.

"So I guess our little field trip last week helped some, right?" Travis says, continuing to flip through the channels.

"Yeah. We gotta do that more often," Cam replies.

Danny nods, and gets up from the couch to take the bag of Doritos that Whatsername left on the counter. I get up, too.

"Where're you headed, Jimmy?" Cam asks as I walk toward the door.

"I just need to get some air," I reply, pulling it open.

"See ya," he says.

"Bye, Jimmy!" Travis calls.

"Have fun," Danny calls.

I quickly close the apartment door and walk down the stairs and out the door to the alley by the building. There are some trash bags, and a green dumpster that smells but not enough to bug me. I take a seat below the fire escapes, leaning against the wall. Don't feel like smoking. I just feel like being alone.

As I'm sitting here, a bit of dirt falls in front of me in a little shower onto the concrete. I look up to see a pair of yellow high tops dangling over the fire escape on what looks like the 5th floor.

Wait a sec...

Using my hand to block the sun out of my eyes, I stand up and crane my neck to try to see if it's who I think it is.

Soon enough, though, the yellow high tops disappear and reappear again, moving down to reveal long, bare legs, climbing down, and then she's on the ground with me.

It's Whatsername.

She sits down where I was sitting just a minute before, and gazes off into the distance. Feeling awkward just standing here, I plop down next to her.

"So, you're Cam's newest recruit." She looks over at me.

I nod, even though it wasn't really a question.

"What made you come here?" she asks.

I shrug. "Tired of life, I guess."

She nods in understanding. "That's what Danny said when he told me he was leaving. But I decided I wanted to go with him."

"And you've been here ever since?"

"Yep. Damn, it's been almost 2 years now. I guess time flies." She hugs her knees to her chest and rests her chin on them, staring at the wall of the building in front of us.

I sit there, twiddling my thumbs.

"You know, I saw you checking me out earlier. Real discreet." She chuckles a little.

"I was not-"

"Cut the crap. You _so_ were," she says insistently.

"Was not." I look away.

She shrugs, brushes her hair out of her face again. "I don't mind. I'm used to it."

I keep looking away, denying it.

"Normally, I would get my brother to kick your ass, but he likes you," she continues. "And I just might like you too."

I look over at her to see if she's serious. I can't tell. She's just looking at me thoughtfully with her big, brown eyes.

"Well, we should probably get back inside." She stands up, pulling down her skirt.

I nod in agreement, and follow her back into the apartment building.

When we get to the 5th floor, she unlocks the door with her key and I enter the apartment behind her.

"Ooh, Jimmy works fast. Two girls in less than a day. Whoo!" Travis exclaims as I close the door behind me.

Now it's my turn to say, "Shut up, Trav."

He laughs, and motions for me get the Oreos. I obediently walk over to the kitchen counter and grab them. As I reach into the fridge to get a beer, too, Danny yells something from the couch.

"Hey, Jimmy! You're on TV!"

"What?" I close the fridge and walk back over to the couch to join my friends.

Sure enough, there's my picture, on the right side of the screen. Some reporter is talking really fast, gesturing to it. I catch the words "James", "runaway", "warehouse," and "find."

My parents are looking for me?


	6. A Dark Place

I feel the bright sun shining on my face and adjust the gray hood of my sweatshirt. I still can't let anyone see my face in case they saw that news show from the other day. So I have to wear my sweatshirt 24/7 even though it's summer. It's okay, though. Life right now is pretty good.

I've gone on a few missions for Cam already. And apparently, I'm doing alright. I just came back from one now, money in my pocket and my hood hiding my infamous face.

I've seen a few posters around the city with my picture and text that says, "Have you seen this boy?" But it's okay. No one really ever looks at those. The ones I've seen I've ripped down.

I come by the storage warehouse. Kurt is there, sweeping up some crap near the offices.

I think about calling out to him, but I spot the 7 Eleven and my stomach grumbles. Tightening the drawstrings on my hoodie, I head in, in search of some chips or something.

There's barely anyone inside, as usual. Just the lonely rows of various snacks and booze. I've come to this one a few times with Whatsername. She usually gets a Cherry Coke and Doritos. For me, it depends. I get whatever I'm in the mood for.

Today feels like a pizza day.

I walk over to the drink section and grab a cup, then fill the cup with red slushie. I think about grabbing a Cherry Coke for Whatsername, but I figure it won't be cold by the time I get back home.

Home?

I guess that apartment _is_ home now. Huh.

After finding a plastic lid of the correct size, I take my slushie to the front of the store and wait for the cashier guy to notice me. When he finally looks up from his fucking phone, I say,

"Yeah, um...can I get a slice of cheese pizza? And this." I put my cup on the gray counter.

"Uh-huh," the guy says, pecking something on the keyboard. After staring at the screen and squinting for 50 years, he turns around and drags himself over to the plastic cabinet where the pizza and chicken wings are kept. Taking one of the thin brown napkins, he grabs a slice and hands it to me.

I nod, as if to say "thanks" and start walking out of the store. Just as I push on the glass door, the guy seems to wake up and calls after me,

"Hey, kid! You gotta pay!"

Shit.

Fine. I turn around and, reaching into my newly filled pockets, grab a ten-dollar bill. Cam won't mind. Danny says he does it all time, and Cam just thinks of it as a little extra to keep us working for him. I shove the ten at the guy, and he studies it carefully, like I was gonna give him fake money or something.

He eventually puts in the register, after taking the time to figure out how to get the drawer open.

"'Kay, you can go," he says.

"You gonna give me my change?" I ask.

"Oh. Yeah." He fumbles with the drawer again, then gives me back a few bills and some pennies. I don't bother counting them. He might have given me a hundred dollar bill, for all he knows.

I pocket the money and leave the store, slurping my slushie.

Wait. What the fuck was that in my pocket?

I feel around for the hard object I touched.

Oh.

It's that piece of tile I picked up from the subway last week. Whatever, I'll keep it. It might come in handy.

Making sure my hood still obscures my face, I turn left and start to walk back to the apartment.

When I get up to our apartment, I knock loudly on the door to be heard over the TV. Note to self: ask Cam for a key to the apartment.

Dave opens the door and grins. "Jimmy!" He lets me in and calls to the ones on the couch, "Hey guys! Look who's back."

"Jimmy! Bringin' in the money!"

"I know someone who missed you!"

"Did you bring food?"

"Hey guys." I walk over to the couch and join them in watching South Park.

"What's that, your fourth mission?" Frank asks.

"Aww, little Jimmy's growing up," Travis teases, nudging me.

I shove him into Dave. "It's actually my fifth, to be exact."

"Oh, pardon me," Travis says sarcastically.

"Cam's in his office," Danny says. "I would bring him the money now if I were you."

"Okay then," I reply, standing up. "Hey, where's your sister?"

He shrugs. "She went out. Should be back later."

"Jimmy's gonna score tonight!" Travis yells.

I roll my eyes and walk over to Cam's door.

He opens after the third knock.

"Oh, hey, Jimmy. How'd we do?"

"Pretty good." I hand him the contents of my pockets-other than the piece of tile, of course.

"Nice," he says, flipping through the stack of bills. "Good job, man."

"Thanks." I smile a little.

"Well," he says, putting the cash into his jacket pocket, "I better put this in the safe. Go have fun."

I nod and saunter back over to the couch after grabbing a beer.

Since it's a Friday, there's another pretty big party tonight. I would get drunk and hook up with one of these chicks Travis is introducing me to, but I can't get myself to stop wondering where Whastername is.

"...and that's how got laid at the age of ten," Travis finishes.

Everyone laughs, except me, since I was zoning out. I quietly step out of our circle, and walk over to the second bedroom.

Carefully opening the door, I hope I'm not interrupting anything. The room is silent and dark. Hmm.

I quietly walk over to the fire escape, and sure enough, Whatsername is sitting there, her long legs dangling off the edge. She's just chilling there, looking around at the buildings and stuff. The wind blows her hair into her face, and she quickly tucks it behind her ear.

"Hey, you," I say, sitting next to her. I still haven't figured out her name. Most people around here call her "kid", "kiddo", or, in Travis's case, "babe". I asked her once what it was. She just said it didn't matter. I haven't bothered to ask again.

"Oh, hey, Jimmy," she says, glancing over at me. She quickly turns her head back to the street. I watch as she clacks her yellow high tops against each other.

"You okay?" I ask, leaning toward her.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she replies, running her hand through her hair. "I'm just..." She sighs and turns to face me. "My parents were killed in a car crash yesterday."

"Oh." I look down. "How'd you find out?"

"I was bored today, so I thought I'd read the newspaper. And...you get it." She turns to the street again. I watch her face carefully. A single tear drips down her cheek, and it feels like someone just stabbed me in the stomach.

"I...I thought you hated them," I say. "You're always saying how annoying they were, and you were glad you left."

"I am, but..." She sighs again. "After we came here, it felt like Danny was my only family left. But now, he really _is _all I have left." She shrugs. "It was just nice to know that there would be someone there for me if I needed help."

"No cousins? No creepy uncles?" I suggest.

She laughs a little, then shakes her head. "Just me and Danny."

"Well...you've got me," I say, touching her arm.

"Do I?" She looks at me.

I nod. "If you ever need me, I'll be here."

"Thanks, Jimmy." She leans her head against my shoulder and stares out at the street.

We just sit there together for a while, looking out at the city. It's a big place. Some people think of it as promising and full of opportunity, but it can be a pretty dark place too. Right now, it's a dark place for Whatsername. And I make a promise to myself to be with her for every minute of her trouble. She needs someone.

For some unknown reason, I suddenly lean over and kiss her, and, to my surprise, she kisses back for while. Later, when we're lying on the bed, she still kisses back. But that's as far as we go. As far as we want to go, for now.

I put my arm around her, and she cries a little in the dark. I keep my arm around her even as her sniffles quiet and her breathing becomes more regular, even as she cries herself to sleep.

And I fall asleep in the dark with her.


	7. Too Good To Be True

**Okay, I think an author's note is necessary for this one. I'm super sorry for the lack of updates. I had begun this chapter a while ago, but then I wrote myself into a corner and couldn't figure out how to finish it. Luckily, I worked it out, and even though it's a bit rough, it's done. Only 3 more chapters after this (well, 2 chapters and an epilogue). Enjoy. {Also I realize now that I shouldn't have written a story about druggies when I know nothing about druggies…}**

* * *

><p>"You know those people who just seem like robots?" Whatsername asks, leaning against the wall of the apartment building.<p>

"Yeah. Like they're programmed to make our lives miserable," I say and nod.

She giggles and climbs over to the edge of the fire escape next to me. "What if they actually _are_ robots?"

"That would explain my parents," I reply with a laugh.

She smiles. "Give it here," she tells me, gesturing to the joint in my hand. I let her slip it out of my fingers and take a hit.

I watch the smoke curl out into the breeze. It's pretty nice out today-not too hot or cold. It's cloudy, though, and the sky's a light shade of gray. It matches the smoke nicely.

"Hey, Jimmy, did you have _fun_ at community service today?" Whatsername teases, elbowing me.

I roll my eyes. "It was boring, as usual. You know I only do it because if I didn't I'd end up in fucking _jail_ again," I tell her.

She shrugs and laughs again. "You sweep up a lotta dust, Jimmy? With your girlfriend, the broom?"

I elbow her now-gently. "I wouldn't cheat on you with a fucking broom." I chuckle.

"Good." She plants a sloppy kiss on my ear.

"Hey, guys." The sound of the sliding door makes me turn around. Danny's standing at the threshold, leaning on the wall and eating tortilla chips. "We're watching _Back to the Future Part II_. It's pretty fucking awesome while high, so you guys should come see."

I shrug and look over to Whatsername. "'Kay," she says, swinging her legs back onto the balcony and getting up. I follow her and Danny inside and into the living room.

Travis is over in the kitchen, washing his hands, which is the first time I've ever seen him do that.

"What's up, Trav?" I yell across the room.

He shakes his hands dry and comes over to join us on the couch. "Got some dye on my hands. Thought I'd try green hair this time." He points to his head, where I can see his formerly brown hair covered in bright green dye that he probably got for a buck at the drug store around the corner.

"Cool." I grab a handful of chips from the bag Danny's holding.

After sinking into the ratty green couch cushions and staring intently at the small TV for a long while, I groan and pull myself to my feet.

"I need to stretch my legs," I say, walking toward the apartment door. "Anyone care to join?"

"Sure," Whatsername chirps. "Excuse me, boys," she says, rising from her spot on the couch between Danny and Travis.

We walk through the streets for a while, not totally sure where we're going. She's not saying anything, so I don't try to start a conversation. If she wants to talk, she will. After a half hour of wandering around, we come to a small Chinese takeout place.

"Let's go in," Whatsername says suddenly, nudging my arm in the direction of the place.

"Sure," I reply, holding the door open for her.

"Such a gentleman," she teases and sticks her tongue out at me.

We order some dinner at the counter, and then we take our plastic bags with smiley faces on them and walk across the street to a park. Whatsername sits at the first bench we see, and I plunk myself down next to her. Five minutes spent inhaling spicy noodles, I look over at her. She's slowly eating her Kung Pao chicken, her eyes glued to the white paper takeout box in her hands.

"What's up?" I ask between mouthfuls.

She lets out a deep breath. "I'm not totally sure." She swings her feet back and forth under the park bench.

I wait for her to construe her thoughts, twirling my noodles around the cheap, plastic chopsticks. I look over at her again. She's still staring into her dinner.

"You know, ever since you came, I've been a lot happier than I used to be," Whatsername says quietly. She turns her head slightly to look back at me.

"Yeah, me too," I agree, nudging her shoulder with mine.

She sighs and puts her chopsticks into the takeout box. I shake my head when she offers the rest of the chicken to me.

"So," I say, leaning into her, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just…." She trails off, twisting the ends of her hair around her finger. "I just feel like it's all too good to be true."

"I—" I start.

"Don't bother trying to convince me otherwise," she says, smiling faintly. "You know how stubborn I am." She leans her head on my shoulder.

"Yeah, I know," I mumble as I stare out at the street.

"I wish it would last," she says quietly, barely above a whisper.

Happiness is a bitch. So many people spend their lives trying to get happiness, but when they finally become happy, happiness says "Okay, that's enough for you," and everything becomes shit again. And the sad thing is people don't seem to expect it.

Whatsername does, though. And I do, too. I can tell that at some point, my good life is gonna end. But for now, I might as well savor it.

When we get back home, Danny and Travis are in the same position as when we left them—flopped on the couch—except now Chris is with them. They're all munching furiously on microwave popcorn and watching a soccer game. Whatsername and I walk in just as Travis jumps up and spills popcorn on Danny.

"Fuck yes!" he yells.

Whatsername rolls her eyes and grabs some of the popcorn remaining in the bag.

"I guess there was a goal?" I say, looking at Danny.

"Apparently," he answers, brushing the kernels off of his shirt.

I stand over next to Whatsername and grab some of the popcorn, too. Just as I start to see what's going on in the soccer game, the apartment door opens and Cam walks in.

"Saddle up, boys," he says. "We're going on a field trip."


End file.
